


What's so Wrong With the Light?

by TheRealSokka



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: "happy" ending, Clay Jensen POV, F/M, Hannah Baker POV, Monet's, changes to reason Nr. 13, hopefully still in character, if you can call it that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-03-30 01:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13939938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealSokka/pseuds/TheRealSokka
Summary: Within a second, it all evaporated and she just felt tired. She lowered her eyes: “Clay. Just stop trying, please.”“Trying what?!”“This! It doesn’t work, I don’t work, I never have and you…” Hannah took a shaky breath: “Just stop.”Look, I just watched this a few hours ago, and I need something optimistic to look back on. All the possible little changes that could've been are just killing me.Done my best not to make it look simple or easy.





	1. Chapter 1

Give life another try.

And then it gambles it away so quickly. Without even trying. A hallway, that is all it takes; a hallway full of people looking at her, and it’s back to square one, empty, background noise. A smile here, a knowing look there, a row of blank lockers, and hers somewhere in the middle. All the same as ever. Nothing changed. So why even try?

Hannah Baker opened her locker and took out her books. Why did she even do that? She wasn’t going to class anyway. Maybe just a reflex. Maybe the routine made it look like everything was normal, fine. She looked around, at all the people passing her by. How did none of them see that it wasn’t? She almost laughed. She’d expected everyone to stop and stare, like at some odd curiosity. Of course not. Even those who knew. There He was, chatting to his teammates, as they did every day. He glanced her way and winked and smiled. Smiled. She looked away. Tyler, with his camera always in hand, taking pictures of whatever. Clay, always a little hunched over, staring at his own locker as if it did something horrible to him. Hannah quickly turned back around. It was just a little flicker of light, and it was too much to deal. She stared at her notebooks piled up in front of her, wondering vaguely if she should maybe empty them all out before she left. Why not?

“Hannah?”

She almost jumped. Clay was suddenly next to her. She met his eyes, looked away and tugged a strand of hair behind her ear. Another reflex; couldn’t help it. Normal. “Um, hey.”

His fingers were twisting and untwisting constantly as he was speaking. She had never noticed that before. “So, ah…” he began, “do you know that feeling when you forget something and know you forgot something, but then you only remember it once you actually need it?”

She felt her mouth starting to smile without her telling it to. “That’s oddly specific. But, matter of fact, I do.”

“Ah. So, long story short, I’m missing my Science book. And we’ve got an assignment and, well, I’m kinda screwed. Maybe you could…?”

He was making his little pleading eyes. Hannah opened her mouth to answer – and found herself wanting to talk about anything but that stupid book, or that stupid assignment, or this stupid school. She wanted to tell him so badly, wanted to scream it out there and get this crushing weight off of her. The madness lasted for only a moment, though. She swallowed hard and shook her head, keeping her voice normal as she put on a small smile: “Only you would worry about that, seriously. Here you go.” She handed him the book in question, avoiding his eyes as he said thanks. She didn’t want to see the familiar embarrassment there, or that friendly warmth that that always radiated off him; only there to cover up the hurt that she had left him with. He was still trying to act nice, even now. Why did he have to do that? It only made it harder. She deserved to be screamed at; at least that way she could tell herself that she wasn’t the only one to blame.

Hannah didn’t know how long she stared at her locker, now at least a little emptier. At least one small good deed done; at least she could help her friend out a tiny bit. She was disgusted by the feeling of elevation that that thought brought with it. Right; Clay’d remember her as the slut who broke his heart and, oh, who gave him a book one time. Great, well done.

How odd she didn’t think about that before: how people would remember her. Not the people at the school; that one was pretty obvious. Not the ones on the tapes, either; they’d know exactly what to think. Or maybe they wouldn’t, maybe it was just so fucked up that no one even cared. Right into that depressing thought, the school bell rang. Hannah remained frozen where she stood. No, that was unfair: Clay would care. Her parents would care. Tony. Maybe Kat as well; she had been gone before her life completely went to shit. But in time they would realize that they were better off without her. Hannah swallowed hard and closed her locker, didn’t even slam it, didn’t have the energy. She hadn’t taken anything.

She turned to walk away – and bumped right into an oversized grey hoody. It took her a second to realize why that was still there. By then, Clay had stumbled a step back, smiling awkwardly: “Woah. Careful who you’re running over.”

Hannah stared at him. The hallway was empty, save for them. She hadn’t even thought… Why was he still there?

“Why are you still here?” She winced. It came out harsher than it should have done. She could get nothing right.

“Uh.” he shuffled his feet. “Science?”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“I thought – we’d go together. You know, bound by bonds of love of subject and kind book-lending?”

Hannah could have hit herself. They had Science together. Why was she so slow? But he shouldn’t have waited for her. And the way he was smiling now, like he always did when they were joking around. Like before. As if the night of the party never happened. And for just a second, a part of Hannah imagined that it didn’t, and that scared her even more. That tiny light that had suddenly lit up in the emptiness inside of her was frightening. She had just about accepted the darkness and now the blinds were being ripped open again, without her consent. It wasn’t fair. She pressed her lips together, trying her hardest not to say anything of what was racing through her head.

Her silence didn’t go unnoticed. “Sorry,” Clay mumbled, “terrible joke. Don’t know why I even try anymore; I’m clearly not a comedian. Should we just head over?” A moment’s pause in which neither of them moved. Then: “Hey. Are you – are you okay?”

 _Yes. No! Why can’t you just leave me alone?!_ With all the willpower she had left, she forced a smile to her lips: “Yeah, Helmet. Always am.” _Don’t ask, just don’t ask anymore_. “Go ahead, swing that assignment. I’ll – I’ll just go to the lady’s real quick.”

“Uh, okay.”

She heard the uncertainty in his voice, but he did take a step back. _Okay. Now just move away. Go to Porter’s and just try to talk_. Why though? It wouldn’t do anything. _Well, then just get it over with. And then stop ruining everything you touch. Just go and stop trying_.

But her legs wouldn’t move. They just wouldn’t.

“Hannah?”

A butterfly in a hurricane.

Hannah didn’t know how she suddenly sat with the back to her locker, but there she was. She stared at the floor, searching for something. She didn’t even know for what. Anything that made sense, maybe. She didn’t know when Clay had sat down next to her, but there he was, suddenly. She didn’t look up. Couldn’t meet his eyes. It was like she was paralyzed. Then her vision turned blurry and she realized she was crying. Why? Why not? Part of her screamed at her to get up and go; the other just didn’t care. What did it even matter? What was a little crying on top of everything else? There was the matter of what Clay thought of her, but she couldn’t make it much worse at this point, could she?

No, she _was_ making it worse right now; now she could hardly pretend to be fine. Now he’d want to know what was going on. She couldn’t…

Clay cleared his throat. When Hannah wiped her eyes, she saw that he was handing her a handkerchief. That was so sweet and so stupid that it actually brought a bit of feeling back to her chest. “Thanks.” she said on autopilot.

“Of course. I mean, always. If you, you know…” he trailed off. His eyes flicked up to hers, then back to the floor, then to the handkerchief he was still holding. Concern was etched on his face.

It was too much. If they’d sit here one moment longer, she would never get up again. Hannah hastily wiped her eyes. “I should go…” Her voice came out hoarse, but it strengthened her conviction. “You’ll miss your Science thing.”

She motioned to get up, when Clay suddenly took her hand. She froze, staring down at his fingers resting on hers. When she met his eyes, he looked just as surprised, but then he started to stammer: “Please, just – talk to me. I just want to talk to you, nothing else.”

 _Me too_. She couldn’t help that thought rising up within her, and all she could do was stopping it from reaching her lips. Soon after those two words came the anger: this was making it so much worse, for both of them.

“Stop!” she said in an angry whisper. _Fuck pretending_. She hadn’t wanted any of this; he just approached her when she made it clear that she didn’t want him to. And now she had to watch his expression change into that utterly hurt look, the one she’d already seen one too many times. Her doing, once again. And within a second, it all evaporated and she just felt tired. She lowered her eyes: “Clay. Just stop trying, please.”

“Trying what?!”

“This! It doesn’t work, I don’t work, I never have and you…” Hannah took a shaky breath: “Just stop.” When he didn’t give any sign of moving, she pushed at him: “Stop it… Just go away! Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop…” Her voice faded away until it was just a whisper against his shoulder. And then he was holding her and, stupidly, she was crying again, and he was saying something but she didn’t hear. Like a dam broke, everything was hitting her at once _; the pictures, Monet’s, the poetry club, the night of the dance, Jess’ party_ ; and it was fucking awful. Into that, an arm hesitantly sneaked around her back, and it was warm and nice, but she didn’t have the energy to push it away _. Justin, Alex, Courtney, Bryce_. Bryce. And Clay. And her mom and dad. The whirlpool at the party. The cinema roof on a summer night. And Clay holding her right now. She pressed into his shoulder. She didn’t want to go.

After what felt like hours, Clay stirred at her side. He took a long breath, as if to say something, then went quiet again. Hannah raised her chin, just a little, to look at him. He breathed in again, trying once more, and this time words came out: “Do you – do you want to go get an ice cream?”

Her laugh - if you could call it that - probably sounded half-mad: “What?”

“I mean, we don’t have to… Yes, we do, actually. Look, let’s just get out and get an ice cream, okay? Or a coffee or something. Come on.”

Hannah shook her head. She was feeling so numb. She really didn’t want a coffee. But she also didn’t know what she wanted. It was easier just to be told what to do. She cleared her throat. “Where?” she asked.

“Monet’s?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A talk at Monet's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few people requested a continuation to this, and, well; here you go (also I do really enjoy writing this turn of events). But just for the record; I suck at writing romance, so read this at your own risk, please.

Clay Jensen was an oblivious idiot.

That was just a fact of life. He was the kind of person to answer a 'how are you?' with a detailed health report. He wasn’t stupid; that wasn’t it. All his teachers would testify that this Clay Jensen was actually rather smart when it came to schoolwork. Theoretical or practical problem solving? Easy. But then on the other hand there was this whole people-related stuff, and that was the part that often just went over his head. He felt like he always read people wrong and then did the wrong thing accordingly. Jeff once joked that someone could wave a beanpole with ‘the message’ at his face and he would still miss it.

So, in summary, that was the root of most of Clay’s problems: he was exceptionally terrible at reading signs. That was how he wound up thinking that bicycle helmets were the height of fashion. Or that kissing his probably-best friend at a party would be a good idea. Afterwards, given how it turned out, it was pretty obvious that he had, in typical Clay Jensen fashion, mistaken the probably-best-friend thing for something more and, in the process, completely ruined that friendship. Sometimes he was tempted to hit himself for his stupid decisions.

But when the aforementioned friend suddenly started to cry her eyes out in front of him, that was a tell that even he couldn't miss. That normally didn’t happen. That spelled out SOMETHING IS VERY WRONG! in giant bold letters. Clay had never seen Hannah Baker this beside herself. He was so used to her cheerful, spunky personality that at first he’d had absolutely no clue how to react to that and just stood there like a stump. Then his brain reverted to its simplistic/idiotic patterning and grasped for the next best idea, which happened to be the patented mother-solution: if something is wrong, get an ice cream.

Monet’s was quiet at this time of day, with its usual clientele sitting half-asleep in some classroom or other, so they had the place practically to themselves. The waitress gave them a strange look when she placed the tray with their order in front of them. They did make for an odd sight: Hannah with her short-cropped hair and red-rimmed eyes, and Clay, well, being Clay. They were probably the oddest couple Monet's had ever seen. And Monet's had seen some odd couples.

Clay couldn't really bring himself to care. Something was seriously wrong; it _shouldn't_ look normal. He couldn’t take his eyes off Hannah for one moment while she played listlessly with her food. She still wore that alarmingly distant look that was so unlike the Hannah Baker he knew. It was like she wasn’t even really here. He really should say something.

“So, uh, it’s nice here. With you, I mean. I’ve never been to Monet’s before.”

“Hmm.” More listless ice cream stabbing.

“Do you – I don’t know; do you want to tell me what’s going on?” It was really unnerving how she wouldn’t meet his eyes, not even for a second. Hannah had stopped outright crying once they left the school building, but somehow this didn’t feel like an improvement. She had barely said a word. Again; big red warning sign. “Can I do something to help?”

Hannah sighed. “Fine first time coming here, huh?” she finally told her ice-cream tub, ignoring his question completely. “With me for company… I just ruin everything, don’t I?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I just said it was nice…” he interrupted himself when his friend gave a little noise that sounded oddly like a humourless laugh. “Hannah?”

“Nothing. I- I should really go.”

With sudden alarm, Clay registered that she was about to get up, her ice-cream still completely untouched. With a courage he didn’t know he had, he hastily reached across the table and clasped her hand. It felt like dejá-vu, and he still had no idea what possessed him. But Hannah froze halfway through her motion. Everything seemed to stop right then.

Clay blushed. He hastily retracted his arm. “Sorry. I just want to help…”

She still wasn’t looking at him, but she did plop back down on her chair. “No; you don’t understand…”

Clay straightened. He did his best to ignore how sweaty his palms were, tried to ignore everything that wasn’t this ~~perfect~~ inexplicably miserable girl in front of him. He hated that look on her. “Then help me understand.” he pleaded. He had never wanted anything more. Had she had a bad break-up? Clay was ashamed to admit that he didn’t even know if she had a boyfriend at the moment. Since the night of Jessica’s party, the two of them had become awfully distant. But there had to be something he could do to make this better – and not screw it up for once.

Hannah finally looked up, and Clay froze. There was nothing; no anger, no hurt, no sadness, no hint of that lively spark that was Hannah Baker. In that moment she just looked – empty. A shiver went down his spine and he almost looked away. This – _lifelessness_ coming from Hannah was – scary. Whatever was going on, he realized, it was much worse than a simple break-up. He couldn’t begin to comprehend what could have brought this on. He couldn’t even say anything; all words had suddenly left him.

He tried to take her hand once more, but Hannah pulled back. She averted her eyes again, her face twisting into a grimace. Speaking seemed to cause her physical pain. “Clay.” she said. “You can’t fix me. I can’t even fix myself. Please, stop trying.”

“Let me try, okay? Whatever it is, I’m sure we can…”

“No, we can’t!” Hannah glared with sudden emotion.

Perhaps the anger with which she said that should have scared him, but to tell the truth, at that moment Clay was glad for it. It was a million times better than that scary apathy. If Hannah needed to scream at him to feel better, then he would happily let her.

But just as quickly as it had come, the spark was gone again. “You don’t understand.” she repeated, sounding utterly defeated. “There is so much wrong with me, you don’t even know.”

"Hannah..." he started helplessly. He really wished he were better with words. "You...well… I think it's okay if you're not okay sometimes."

_Yep. Class A therapist right here. Good job._

Hannah gave a frustrated noise and buried her head in her hands. When she removed them again, Clay was startled to see moisture glisten in her eyes.

“Why?!” she demanded. "Why do you care about me?"

That question took him unawares. Immediately, a whole list of reasons popped into his mind, most of them too cheesy to actually say out loud. Then he wondered how she could even ask that. He cleared his throat and went with the simplest answer: “You’re my friend. Of course I care.”

Something flickered across her face, and once again Clay couldn’t decipher what it meant. But then Hannah lowered her eyes and his heart dropped: he had managed to say something wrong again. “And you’re amazing!” he blurted out. “And I’m amazed that you hang out with me at all, and you’re funny and gorgeous and cool, and you’re the nicest person I’ve ever met, and I probably should have told you that a long time ago, but I’m too much of a dolt, so, yeah…” Clay stopped, aware that he was rambling. Not that it made any of all that less true.

Hannah stared at him, wearing a look of disbelief. “You don’t know me. You wouldn’t say these things if you knew.”

“Yes I would!” Clay insisted. And then: “Wait, what do you mean I don’t know you?”       

This time, it most definitely was a humourless laugh. “Well, for one; I’m the school slut. Oh; and I’m a liar. I’ve lied to you so many times; I’m the worst possible friend –ask anyone -; I’ve ruined my parents’ business; I’ve… I’ve been…” The rest of her words were lost in a choked sob. Suddenly she looked like she might break apart any second.

“Hey.” Clay said soothingly, but he was slowly starting to get irritated. “Why would you say all that?! You don’t really think…”

“Because it’s fucking true!” Hannah exclaimed. She wiped at her eyes furiously. “And you can’t see that because you’re just too…”

She stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes travelled down to the table top. Clay followed her gaze. At some point, their hands had found each other and were interlaced tightly in between the ice-cream tubs. Clay flushed. He hadn’t done it consciously, and judging by the sudden tension in her fingers, neither had Hannah. Her eyes flicked back up to him, wide and afraid, as if she expected him to pull away, which startled him so much that he almost did. He just couldn’t understand it. Where had that humorous confidence gone that he’d fallen head over heels with the very first time she spoke to him? What had happened; was this all because of that one party? They used to be able to talk freely with each other, but now they apparently couldn’t anymore, afraid of every little motion, and it hurt. Clay wanted so desperately for her to trust him again. He didn’t look away; he stopped himself from saying anything; he just returned her pressure and hoped it expressed everything he wanted to say: _I’m here. I like you. Don’t go_.

“Clay.“ Hannah said. Her voice was trembling, her anger gone. She was fighting hard to get the words out. “Please, don’t leave.”

“I’m not.” He meant it.

Hannah leaned back, until she was looking at the ceiling. “This is fucked.” she got out.

“Yeah.” Clay agreed with that assessment.

“I’m fucked.”

“Uh; no.” he disagreed promptly.

She blinked at him through her tears. Then she mumbled “Wow. God; I don’t deserve you as a friend.”

Clay chuckled: “Good one.” The noise got stuck in his throat when he saw the look on her face. _Oh_. His chuckle turned into an ungraceful cough. “Uh…you mean that?” he stated, completely perplexed.

“Hmhm.”

He couldn’t stop himself from giggling then: “I’m sorry, but that’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?!” Suddenly, Hannah looked downright offended. A look that Clay knew like the back of his hand, and one that suited her much better in his opinion.

“Yeah! You’re…” he gestured at the frowning girl in front of him, trying and failing to put it into words. “You’re Hannah Baker. Don’t say you don’t deserve anything, because… just don’t okay? You are amazing in every possible way, and you worry about that _you_ don’t deserve _me_?! HAH! Oh, uhm – sorry.” he immediately apologized in the direction of the waitress, who was looking very bewildered in their direction after his sudden exclamation.

Hannah stared at him for a long time. “Do you really mean that?”

He laughed nervously, blushing up to his hair roots: “Oh dear Lord, you’re killing me! Yes; I do; you are the most amazing person I know, and if you make me say that one more time I am going to die of embarrassment.”

“Oh.” she breathed.

She looked at him with an expression he couldn’t identify, a stray hair falling into her face, and in that moment Clay’s brain did its stupid thing again: he started to read too much into every little detail; from her beautiful short hair to her wide eyes to her parted lips. And, despite his resolve not to do anything stupid this time, he acted accordingly. When he leaned forward, it felt as if it was happening in slow motion, and he was barely aware that Hannah was almost imperceptibly doing the same, until their lips suddenly met. And stayed there. They tasted of strawberry ice-cream. Clay’s eyes flew shut.

Then they flew open again.

He was kissing Hannah. What in the world was he doing?!

But she didn’t seem to mind. Her eyes were wide open as well, just inches away from his, and they _sparkled_. Her hands came up to his neck, pulling him closer until he almost fell off his chair, and after that he stopped thinking.

He was dimly aware, in one small part of his mind, that this, whatever _this_ was, couldn’t last forever, but the rest of him couldn’t care less.

Hannah pulled away, breathless, leaving his lips tingling, and he reluctantly woke up from his blissful state. And looked at her. Her eyes were searching his face; he wasn’t sure what for. “Did you mean _that_?” she asked. This time, her question wasn’t so disbelieving, but full of honest, curious, _lively_ surprise.

Clay’s face probably rivalled a tomato at this point. He was half-expecting someone to shout “Prank!”, or to wake up from this beautiful dream back in his bed. Or maybe the universe was just going to spontaneously combust now. There scarcely was a better explanation for what had just happened. Had she asked something? All knowledge of the English language seemed to have suddenly fled his head. He managed a very eloquent “Uhu.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

“Uh, no. No; I am definitely not mad at you.” he laughed breathlessly.

He still wasn’t quite sure what exactly had just happened, or what it meant. Were they back to being friends (maybe more…?) now? He glanced up at her face, then quickly down at the table, then quickly back up, completely unsure what to do. Somewhat to his relief, Hannah looked just as confused, her eyes mirroring his in their up-down-up movement. The red rims under her eyes were still noticeable, a sight that slowly brought Clay to reality. But, though absentmindedly, Hannah Baker finally started on her already half-melted ice cream, which Clay chose to take as a good sign. In his experience, everything looked better with a little sugar in the bloodstream. Also: _they had just kissed_! His heart still couldn’t get over that.

Without warning, the girl opposite him froze suddenly, with the spoon hovering half-way to her mouth. She looked like a statue of ‘the startled ice-cream eater’. “Hannah?” Clay asked uncertainly.

There were a million emotions running across Hannah’s face right now, so fast that it was impossible to keep track. Finally, _shock_ seemed to win out and she clasped both hands over her mouth. Clay barely heard her muttered “Oh my god!” She stared at him. “I was going to…And you were…Oh my god!”

“What?” Clay asked, confused.

Hannah took a deep breath. Suddenly she couldn’t seem to meet his eyes again. But she got her words out, despite her voice shaking violently: “Clay. You…I- I-…” She swallowed hard and started again: “I- I have to show you something.”

“Now?”

“Yes; right now. Before I have a chance to think and do something stupid.”

**Author's Note:**

> There are not that many shows that can make me cry, but holy shit.  
> I don't want to be disrespectful to suicide or how it was depicted here. The show has some courage to deal with it in this much detail, and it's f*ing effective at it, too. I was constantly going through 'what if' scenarios, especially on that last day. I hope the one I went with doesn't come across as cliche or as a simplification. I really wanted to get this right.


End file.
